


Coronation

by ry0kiku



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: AU, Bruce in denial, Implied noncon only for chapter two, Kingdom!AU, M/M, Nightmares, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Underage tag is only for chapter one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-11 05:11:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8954929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ry0kiku/pseuds/ry0kiku
Summary: When King Bruce of House Wayne narrowly evaded his grown-up ward's confession by making him the crown prince, little did he know of what consequences it may bring.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All the characters belong to DC Comics.

 

.

Bruce Wayne sat tall, blue eyes betraying no emotion as he watched the young man slowly walked up to him, flanked by his guards. Despite years of vile whispers and ruddy slanders regarding his heritage, today's Richard Grayson looked every bit as the regal prince Bruce taught him to be. Today, those vile gossipers had no choice but to see him as none other than the royal heir dutifully facing his coronation day. 

Dutiful, despite everything.

.

" _Bruce. I love you."_

_"You don't know what you're talking about, Dick. You're eleven."_

.

The attendees were, Bruce observed, very diverse compared to his own coronation. His ward did have a penchant of going out unannounced and unguarded, mingling with commoners and minstrels, and completing missions usually reserved for full-fledged knights.

The Princess of Tamaran was there and looking cherry, cancelled engagement and everything. The Titans, ragtag band of knights Richard had assembled to take on the threat of blood-obsessed cult awhile ago, was also mostly there (with the exception of Wallace West, whom if Bruce remembered correctly, was off looking for sacred scripture or something). Even Slade Wilson, the man behind the deadly mercenary Deathstroke attended. While acknowledging the shared history between the man and his ward, Bruce still thought he sees red everytime he caught the one-eyed man deliberately took a look at Richard far too long for his comfort.

Bruce convinced himself that the disdain was because of his protective feelings for his ward. After all, he of all people was most familiar with Richard's... peculiar tastes.

.

_"I love you."_

_"....."_

_"Why aren't you saying anything, Bruce?"_

_"Because this is a phase. Because it will pass."_

_"It hadn't for five whole years. And I doubt it will ever do."_

.

Bruce could still vividly remember that day. Remembered seventeen-year-old Richard looking up at him, blue eyes stormy with hope and hands trembling betraying his courage at the confession. A stark contrast with him today, whose hands steady as he accepted the sceptre and eyes clear, almost emotionless as he bowed, allowing Alfred to place the small golden crown on his head.

He then turned to Bruce, eyes focusing on a spot beside his right ear. The king ignored a slight pang at the gesture and rose from his throne, the heavily embroidered blue cloak on his arm.

.

" _Bruce..."_

_"......"_

_"Bruce, I love you."_

_"......"_

_"Give me something. Anything."_

_"...Dick."_

_"Yes?"_

_"You deserve someone better than me."_

.

Bruce closed the distance between them, still not meeting Richard's eyes. Richard wordlessly turned his back, allowing him to drape the cloak over his shoulders.

_They used to be so tiny, so fragile, shaking with grief._

Bruce let go of the cloak, letting it drape about Richard's tall, slender body. He felt rather than saw the shoulders sagged slightly, though whether from the weight of responsibility or silent acceptance, he couldn't really tell.

"Prince Richard of House Wayne." Alfred announced, voice clear and resounding despite his age. "Long live the Crown Prince!"

The crowd cheered, and Richard raised his hand to give the audience an appreciative wave (he bet it was likely prompted by Alfred). A second later Bruce got his own share of meaningful look by the old advisor, or to be precise the 'put-your-hand-on-his-shoulder-you-emotionally-constipated-oaf' look. He shot Alfred his own look, but as usual it had no effect on the advisor. Resigning to his fate and deciding he would rather deal with an angry Richard than a displeased Alfred, he complied and put his left hand on his ward's--now officially son--right shoulder.

The effect was instanteous. Richard's head snapped up to meet him, blue eyes widening and for the first time since the ceremony started, the stoic mask slipped and Bruce could see everything. 

Bitterness. Pain. Cold fury.

For one second Bruce could see hurt, heartbroken Dick Grayson before the mask slipped in place and dutiful Richard Wayne came back, staring past him with carefully controlled expression. Bruce withdrew his hand, swallowing the lump in his throat.

This was for the best. The boy had no idea how dangerous, how possessive, how dark Bruce could be. He was too young, too bright, too full of life to surrender himself so quickly. This was the only way to protect Richard--Dick. By fully adopt him, making him Bruce's son and heir. By breaking his heart.

It was the only way.

.

.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 .

The fleeting laugh was all too familiar, prompting Bruce to stop on his way to see Alfred to take a peek through one of the many windows. Two stories below, nestled in a bench in the inner garden surrounded by blooming flowers and greens, was Dick and Jason. 

His newly christened heir was laughing with his arm draped familiarly over the knight's shoulders. Jason himself wore a small smile, saying something Bruce couldn't hear but made Dick chuckle and look up at him fondly.

_(He knew that gesture, the gesture he so often pretended not to see from the corner of his eyes.)_

He was about to retreat when he noticed Jason angling his neck, allowing Dick to rest his head on his shoulder. The king stopped short, feeling a slight pang at the intimate display, but swallowed it whole and chalked it up as relief. He had expected his ward--no, son--to still be cold and angry three days after the coronation, but here the eighteen-year-old was, looking content and happy with someone he had considered as a brother, perhaps more.

_(Even if he was reminded of the simpler times when younger Dick would rest his head on his shoulder while reading together in his study, equally content and happy. With him.)_

Bruce sent both boys one last lingering look, couldn't help but noting the way Jason gently massaged Dick's shoulder, before finally closing the curtain and left the scene, telling his aching heart that it was for the best.

Dick deserved someone better than him. Someone who wouldn't diminish his light, who can make him smile and laugh and relax. Someone like Jason, whom Bruce took in and personally watched growing into a valiant knight. The knight who would protect his prince without smothering him in darkness.

Bruce made his way back to his rooms. Alfred could wait, and he wouldn't risk his perceptive advisor seeing past his brood and unexplainable bad mood.

.

(Though if only he'd stay a minute longer, he probably would've heard Jason told Dick to drop the act. He would've seen Dick buried his face in Jason's chest and started shaking.)

(And if he'd look closer, he might have seen Timothy too, silently observing from another wing right across the garden.)

.

.

_It took only one big feast, one too many mead that left Dick stumbling and flushing and 'so goddamn inviting', that Bruce found himself finally caving. Bruce tried to rein himself in, he really did. But Dick was relentless, passionate, loyal, and so very... desirable. One embrace led to one kiss, and the rest of the night blurred into heat and passion and taut muscles and blissful ectasy. It was the best night of his life. And following that, the worst morning in his memory as his court had Dick on trial._

_"We should have realized it sooner. He had us fooled!"_

_"Look at what you did, filthy gypsy! Tainting our king!"_

_"I call for exile!"_

_"No, an execution!"_

_"Agreed. But before that, we should let the people see this whore for who he is."_

_It had happened so fast. The next thing Bruce knew, he saw the young man being dragged onto a platform in the capital's plaza in tatters and chains. The soldiers fastened his wrists and ankles to wooden pillars, stretching his body. Bruce felt bile rising in his throat as they removed whatever remained of Dick's clothes. One of the guards gave his backside a hard slap, and the crowd cheered. Dick looked up and met his eyes, and Bruce's heart sank as he saw nothing but acceptance. He felt himself rising, and the crowd fell silent to wait on his order._

_"Do it."_

.

He woke up with a violent jerk, the sound of Dick's screams still fresh in his ears. He felt hands on his shoulders trying to push him back, hearing the familiar voice, the voice he's just heard screaming in anguish...

"Alfred, he's awake! Bruce, can you hear me?"

Bruce forced himself to focus, blinking his eyes rapidly. The familiar face slowly became clearer. His Dick. In front of him. In robes instead of tatters, face crunched up in worry instead of in pain. Babbling something about a rebel named Crane and poison and attempted assassination, but none of it mattered as he brought his hand up to touch his son. Ensuring himself that this wasn't part of that cruel dream.

"You're safe," He let out a croaked whisper, caressing the soft cheek, the dark locks. Dick stopped in the middle of his babble, completely stunned, but quickly softened and touched his hand, smiling warmly.

"I'm here, Bruce."

Part of Bruce wanted to embrace him. Wanted to kiss him everywhere. To claim him and never let him go. But then he remembered the trial, the cheer, the sickening sound of clothes ripping and flesh slapping. The sounds of Dick's screams as they--

"Bruce?"

He couldn't let it happen. Drug-induced nightmares or not, it could still happen. He won't let it, no matter the cost.

"Get out."

"Bruce, what--"

"Get. Out."

Those blue eyes flashed with hurt, and Bruce's chest sank at how familiar it looked with the Dick in his dreams. The Dick he failed.

He would not fail this one as well.

"Fine. I'll get Alfred. Take care, Bruce."

The voice was strained, with cold detached tone Bruce knew Dick would use everytime he tried to mask his feelings. Bruce merely nodded, turning his eyes away. He closed them as he heard the door close, swallowing his urge to chase after the young man to apologize and never let him go.

_I cannot let you suffer because of me._

_._

_._

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write multichapter but... this one is a special case. First attempt at BruceDick, criticism will be appreciated. Thanks for reading and happy holiday!


End file.
